Tranquilize
by The Deepest Sapphire
Summary: In the aftermath of a nuclear war which left the world damaged beyond repair, Denmark locates Sweden, and the two of them begin a journey in the hopes of rebuilding.
1. Outbreak

It had started out small; A few protests here and there, no big deal. Protests were a common occurrence, normally nothing to pay much attention to. But then it began to spread.

That wasn't to say the people had no reason, they did. There were ample problems: The economy, rising gas prices, terrorism, and the environmental crisis, to name a few. They had plenty of reason to protest. But quickly the protests were becoming riots.

By the sixth month of rebellion, only a handful of peaceful demonstrations were left. That's the thing about humans- Peace doesn't come naturally to them. Everyone wants to be at peace, or so it seems. But deep down, everyone wants the same thing: To be in charge. To have control over their environment. Because there are unknown factors when people put that power in the hands of others, and in the entire world, there is no greater fear to be found than that of the unknown.

It was when the nuclear weapons came out that governments began putting their national embodiments into hiding.

* * *

"So what're we expecting as far as atomic bombs?"

"They're definitely going to be used.

"No shit they're gonna be used Matt, who's gonna use 'em first?"

"We're expecting one of our boys in the Middle East, but… We can't be sure, you know?"

"Yeah…"

There was a brief silence on either end of the line as the information sunk in. The Canadian's quiet hum broke the silence.

"So where're they sending you, eh?" he inquired, still pleasant despite their situation. Alfred loved that about his brother; He had an attitude that could calm anyone down. Although it wasn't very effective at a time like this.

"You know that's classified information," he chuckled teasingly. "You never know, some Canadian terrorists could be out to get me."

Matthew smirked at the other end of the line. "They must be keeping you under pretty close watch if you can't even tell your own brother where you are."

"It's nothing against you, Mattie," mumbled the other nation with a subtle sigh. "It's just… It's wartime, y'know? We all have to be careful."

There was an uncomfortable silence on either end of the line. The two men hadn't been this quiet with each other in decades. After what felt like a small eternity, Alfred spoke up again. "I'll call you next week, yeah?"

"Okay." He hung up. No goodbyes. Despite their hopeful outlook on the future, a goodbye at such a time would have felt wrong. It would have felt final.

Two days later, an EMP was detonated over North America, cutting off all electronic communication in the affected area. There would be no phone call next week.

* * *

**Hey there! So, a few warnings here before we begin this whole fic:**

**1.) This is post-apocalyptic. Set about three years after the end of a world-wide outbreak of nuclear war. While I'm going to try to be as scientifically accurate as possible, I am no expert on nuclear after-effects. While I do appreciate the help, if you could please refrain from pointing out my scientific inaccuracies, I would be much obliged.**

**2.) Although Sweden and Denmark do not appear in this first chapter, they will be the main characters, although other official characters will be making appearances.**

**3.) There will be violence, and some bloodier scenes.**

**4.) Probably a lot of chapters, although they'll be longer than this in most cases.**


	2. Reunion

**I would like to issue a warning in advance that I speak neither Swedish nor Danish, so any errors in the use of both can be attributed to flaws in Google Translate.**

* * *

Denmark popped open the outermost bunker door, positioned himself on the ladder, and sealed the hatch again. Carefully, he ascended the rungs, landing with a soft thud on the lower hatch. He began the process of removing his CBRN suit.

The noise alerted those inside the bunker. One of them, a middle-aged man with a significant scar along his left jaw, rose from his sitting position on the floor and hurried over towards a gun cabinet located in the corner. "Keep quiet," he growled, pulling a loaded handgun from the cabinet. As he approached the ladder, there came a loud banging from the hatch.

"Berwald! Ya in there?" called a gruff male voice from outside the hatch.

A tall, blond man rose urgently at the words. "Wait," he demanded, holding out a hand in the direction of the armed inhabitant. "Who are ye?" he called back. The bunker was enveloped in a tense silence as they awaited a reply.

"Sve? Sve, that really you? It's Dan, c'mon lillebror, lemme in!"

He practically ran over to the armed man, pulling the gun from his hand and beginning up the ladder. "Berwald, you can't just let someone in, they could be dang-"

"Håll käften," he grumbled, shoving the hatch open. In one quick motion, he cocked the gun, shoved it up into the opening, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed dangerously close to Matthias' cheek, lodging itself into the thick hunk of metal that formed the ceiling. He flinched at the near contact, glaring down to meet the Swede's imposing gaze. "What was that for, ya dick?"

Berwald smirked. "Yer def'nitely Dan," he mumbled, climbing down the ladder. "Close the hatch on yer way down."

Matthias did as he was told, following him down the ladder and pulling the hatch shut over his head. He jumped onto the floor from the bottom rung and stretched his arms out until he felt a satisfying pop.

"I cross a radioactive sea t'find ya and ya greet me by tryin' t'blow my head o-" his rant was cut off as he was yanked into a lung-crushing hug.

"I thought ye were dead, id't." Berwald clung to him firmly, as though he may lose him again at any second, wake up and find it was all a dream. "I thought…" He swallowed the urge to cry, hoping to keep as much dignity as possible without his voice cracking. "I thought I'd lost ye again."

Another of the bunker's inhabitant's, a young man who look to be in his mid-20's at most, spoke up from his seat at the table in the far corner. "The two of you know each other, then?"

Matthias wriggled finally wriggled free of the Swede's embrace, grinning cockily in the man's direction. "Ja, I'm 'is favorite bror! Ain't that right, Ber?"

Sweden rolled his eyes in exasperation, but for once didn't deny his relation to the other man. "M'only bror, that's diff'rent from bein' m'favorite."

"Uanset hvad."

Berwald pulled him over to a more private corner of the bunker, glaring at the others until they resumed their conversations amongst themselves. "

"How'd ye get here anyway, Dan?"

"I told ya, I sailed! An' I walked some'a the way, 'course."

"They let ye out 'f yer bunker?" he said, slightly shocked.

"No one got put in there t'keep an eye on me like they did fer ya. Guess they knew us Danes're smart 'nough t'not go outside durin'a nuclear apocalypse," he teased, punching his brother playfully on the arm.

"Obvi'sly not, else ye wouldn't be here." He paused for a moment, before adding, "They didn't put 'em in here with me. I found 'em, er… They found me." He walked back to the table without explanation, leaving his brother to wonder momentarily as to how, before he decided it was not of much importance and went to the table himself. He may as well get to know the 'found' group.

* * *

"Ah, c'mon Sverige, why's it gotta be with you?"

"We used t'share a bed when we were younger," mumbled Berwald with some annoyance.

"But ya weren't so big back then!" protested the Dane.

Sweden sighed. "Well it's the only bed that isn't already filled," he responded with an air of finality.

Huffing, Matthias turned and started towards the kitchen area in search of some water. "'Course it is, no one'd wanna wake up t'ya stupid face," he mumbled poutily, earning himself a glare from the other man.

* * *

Denmark squirmed again on the raggedy mattress, and after discovering no more comfortable sleeping position, propped himself up on his elbows instead, face turned up towards the bunker's metal ceiling. "Hej, Sve?"

"Hm," came a faint, exasperated grunt. Just go to sleep already, idiot...

"What now?"

Sweden paused for a moment to consider the question, but under his state of partial consciousness, could find no reasonable meaning to the question. "What d'ye mean, 'what now'?"

"Are ya jus' gonna stay here?"

"Isn't anywhere else t'go, Dan."

"Hvad? Have ya been out there, Ber? There're bunkers everywhere! We could go find people, we could rebuild, we-"

"Jus' the two of us?" the larger man inquired doubtfully.

"W-Well... Nej! We'd pick up s'more people along the way..."

Berwald sighed, knocking the other nation off of his elbows and turning his back to him. "Jus' go t'sleep, Matthias..."

* * *

**Some basic (read: Google Translate) translations of the foreign terms used:**

**Lillebror-"Little brother" (Danish/Swedish)**

**Håll käften-"Shut up" (Swedish)**

**Bror-"Brother" (Danish, can also be used for Swedish)**

**Uanset hvad-"Whatever" (Danish)**

**Hvad-"What" (Danish)**

**Nej-"No" (Danish/Swedish)**

**CBRN Suit-CBRN standing for Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear. I'm not exactly the best at explaining them, so I think it's be safer to just provide the wikipedia page for readers to research it to their preferred extent: .org/wiki/CBRN**

**And now that all of the formal information is finished here, sorry for the delay in updating this. I came down with a pretty bad head cold earlier this week and I was a bit too out of it to write anything comprehensible, so I ended up putting this off for a few days. I'm still sort of recovering, but I should be working at my normal pace again soon enough.**


	3. Uproar

"Hey, he's awake!"

Sweden fumbled with his glasses a bit, finally managing to get them into their proper position on his face, and pushed himself up into a sitting position on the small, aging mattress. He massaged his temples lightly for a moment, rubbing away some of the tension from a headache that had begun the previous day with the arrival of his brother, and looked over to the small table around which much of the bunker's daily life existed. He was the last one up today. Some of the six other residents, seven now counting the Danish newcomer, had turned their glances away from their mundane morning conversations to look at him, but they had quickly gone back to their chattering.

He got up from the mattress and stretched for a moment, before heading over the the table, feet dragging slightly with drowsiness. "Yer a real clingy sleeper, ya know that?" Denmark grinned teasingly at him from the far end of the table. Berwald flashed a glare in the other man's direction, trying and failing to hide the red flush of embarrassment that shot into his cheeks. "Had t'push ya off'a me t'get up, an ya were holdin' on t'a pillow after that." Matthias chuckled lightly to himself, although two of the other bunker inhabitants had decided to join in on the conversation, laughing along with the Dane awkwardly at Berwald's expense. "What, are ya missin' that Finn o' yours already?"

The Swede slammed a fist onto the metal table harshly, causing everyone but his fellow nation to jump in dismay, putting an end to the meaningless discussions around him and making way for a tense silence which filled the air as he pulled out an empty chair. "Shut up, Matthias," he mumbled tiredly, sitting down. He cleared his throat. "What's f'r breakfast, then?"

One of the bunker's two female inhabitants, a small, mousy woman by the name of Marna, gave an indignant huff. "And what makes you think we're gonna get you _anythin'_ after an outburst like that?" she demanded.

"We got bread an' some strawberry preserves," Denmark mumbled, rising from his chair and heading off into the small kitchen area of the bunker. _I'm an idiot..._ He wondered if Sweden even knew where the other man was. The two of them had shared that sort of information with each other, but this was Berwald; he was a secretive sort of man, and even if he had been given the location of this bunker, there was no safety in assuming that he'd done the same for anyone else. He trusted few, and Matthias himself was extremely surprised when he'd told him this information, and had been wary at first to do the same.

* * *

At the table, a small chaos had erupted regarding Berwald's attitude, with Marna providing most of the opposition, but with the others throwing in the occasional comment.

"What d'you gives you the right to come over here and scare us half to death with that little threat of yours?"

"I wasn't threatenin' any 'f ya. Jus' m'brother."

"Well I'm sure we all would've gotten caught up in your petty fighting!"

"We're more mature than ya seem t'think, if we'd gotten anywhere near violence, we would've at least done it away from yer inn'cent eyes."

They carried on like this for several more minutes, Berwald becoming slightly more fed up with them all by the second.

* * *

The day continued on in its typical dull way, albeit with more tension than was normal among the inhabitants. One person was assigned to redoing the inventory of their amply-supplied storage (which, in recent weeks, had started to look a bit less ample than they had originally thought), others swept and scrubbed the bunker, and a few were sent up for the new task of cleaning Denmark's radioactive suit, a job that did not go without it's complications.

At the end of the day, after a smaller-than-average dinner, Matthias pulled the other nation aside. "So ya given my offer any more thought?"

Berwald nodded sullenly, glancing over the other man's shoulder in the direction of the other residents preparing for bed. The people who had come to him, left homeless by floods and robbed bare by looters. The people who he had felt obligated to protect for the three long years in the bunker. The same people who he could feel slowly turning on him.

"I'll go."

* * *

**I don't have much to say, but I must warn that I'm in the last 3 weeks of school and at this point I don't have much time to write between last-minute projects and studying for finals, but I'll be trying to keep up with the pace I've been going at so far, albeit possibly a bit slower.**


	4. Deserters

A sharp nudge to the ribs woke the lightly dozing Swede, and in a matter of seconds he was up, glasses on, rushing quietly to the door of the stock room. The bunker hummed gently with the echoing snores, varying from thick and gravely to dainty as each of the slumbering residents contributed their own tone to the orchestra. Berwald looked over to the ladder and gestured for Matthias to continue up and get ready, opening the door to the darkened stock room once the other man had begun to climb. A medium-sized bag sat in the corner, flattened beneath a spare CBRN suit. He pulled both out and began to scan the shelves and labelled bins for only the basic necessities, not willing to take away more than they would need from these people. Slowly, the bag began to fill.

* * *

Several minutes later, he joined Denmark in the upper level of the bunker. Sweden had placed the bag, now filled to maximum capacity with goods, into the protective suit and then tied the arms together, fashioning a makeshift shoulder strap to carry it by.

Denmark was already into his suit, squatted nervously off to the side, staring up at the hatch to the surface with a deep sense of longing. Not even nuclear war could cure the man of his hatred for being stuck indoors, and after so much time on the move coming to find his brother, even these two short days in the bunker had seemed an eternity. He needed endless space to run, pace, jump freely, and spacious though the bunker was, his time in it had left him with an unsettling, cramped feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he was glad to be leaving it behind for going on the road.

He waited patiently until Sweden was getting into the gear before standing, flashing him a lopsided, teasing grin. "Sure ya gonna be able t'handle this, Sve? Never been much of a risk-taker in th'time I've known ya." The taller man nodded gently in response, unwilling to play into his brother's taunts. Matthias jerked his chin in the direction of the covered bag on the floor. "Ya got a gun in there?"

"Don' see why we'd b' needin' one," he murmured, shrugging.

Matthias stared at his brother with shock, suddenly realizing that what he'd suspected, what he'd feared, all along had been confirmed; The man hadn't left his bunker since he'd been put in. Or at least, if he had, he hadn't gone very far.

"Ber... Ya haven't seen what it's like outside, okej? It ain't hard t'notice how this whole situation's changed people. There're gangs ou' there, Sve, an' they're not 'bove killin' ya for those supplies." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. "Jus'... Stay here, I'll go down an' get us some defense." He headed back to the hatch in the floor and opened it slowly, taking a deep breath before beginning his descent.

* * *

Once down, Matthias made quick work of getting into the gun cabinet and selecting a large, plain shotgun, as well as grabbing two small boxes of ammunition. Their safety now slightly more ensured, he started back for the ladder, slinging the shotgun's strap over his head so that it lay diagonally across his chest. The gun clacked softly against his back with each step, much to his annoyance.

"Stop!"

The exclamation echoed through the dim bunker, rousing a few of the sleeping forms sprawled about on their mattresses. Denmark, too panicked to turn and see who wished to confront him, broke into a run ascending th metal rungs of the ladder at full speed. He clambered to the top wildly, dropping one of the ammo boxes in his frenzy. He threw the other box into the hatch, then climbed in himself and slammed the opening down.

"_MOVE!_"

Sweden flinched as he was pushed forward, suddenly sharing his companion's alarm. The two men grabbed their items, Denmark clutching tightly to the box of ammo and Sweden tossing the improvised bag over his shoulder, and rushed up the ladder, Sweden in the lead. They had just barely opened the upper hatch when they heard the clang of a bullet hitting the roof beside them. But they were working overtime now, the adrenaline pumping through them not allowing them to stop or even to think of stopping, their entire bodies screaming _go!_ as they surfaced.

* * *

Berwald wasn't sure where to look first, not that he had a very large array of options; There was only the toxic sky above them and the barren waste beneath their feet and the jagged saw teeth of distant mountains on the horizons. All the time in the bunker when he'd been aware of an unusual weakness, a fragility to his body, he now knew why. The country had been swept clean by the harsh conditions left over by radiation.

"Sverige, c'mon, ya don' have time t'be in shock!" Denmark kicked the hatch closed and began to drag Sweden along by his wrist. "They got another bunker 'bout half a mile away, ya can make it, ya jus' gotta move ya damn feet!"

Berwald stumbled awkwardly along behind him at first, before finally shaking the Dane's hand off and setting his own pace, trailing a few feet behind the other man. As they ran, he stared around at the environment with a horrified amazement. He remembered being brought here, three, maybe four years ago, he'd lost count. It was lush and thriving, a small, quiet field in the countryside that his government had decided looked inconspicuous enough to use for putting them into hiding. And now it was this... Wasteland. He could think of no better word but wasteland, and that was what it was, a barren wasteland that had once been thriving.

"Dan," he grumbled at first, and then when there came no reply from his brother, he called it out again.

"Dan!"

The smaller nation glanced over his shoulder at him and began to slow considerably, until finally both men came to a stop, panting for breath, heads aching and throbbing with a tinge of vertigo thrown into the mix.

"They... They won' follow us, Dan..." panted Sweden nervously. "They're content t'jus' stay there. 'N I say let 'em, f'r all I care they c'n rot." He chocked out a single awkward chuckle at the thought, of those six pathetic people, happy to sit there underground and let life slip away. And yet here he was, just as pathetic, following his brother into a heinous adventure, chasing after the faint hope that maybe it could work, maybe they could rebuild society.

He couldn't help but speculate as to who was in the more pathetic situation.

* * *

**Sverige-"Sweden" (Swedish/Danish/Norwegian)**


	5. Moving

Once they had started back up on their short walk, Matthias began talking to ease the tension.

"I started jus' north of Næstved, y'know. An' for a while they were still lettin' people into th'bunker."

"Any'ne come t'see ya?"

"Ja, Lukas an' Erik came by, an' then Jan stayed with me for a few days. But then they sealed me off, an'... Well, I could only go so long after the lines went dead, so I got m'self into gear an' started travellin'. But when I left, it'd been maybe a year, so-"

"How long's it been, anyway?"

Denmark stopped walking for a second to think about it, mulling over his thoughts aloud. "We got locked up in... September, right... An' then... I'd say two an' a half, three years?

"Sounds 'bout right," Sweden grumbled, waving his companion forward. "What else did ya do for that time, though? It don' take two years t'get from Næstved t'Jönköping."

Matthias chuckled lightly at the other nation's curiosity. "Hatch's right o'er there," he waved a hand to a lower-lying patch of dirt out in front of them. "I'll save the rest for later. Don't wanna tell the _ungdyr_ the whole bedtime story in one night, y'know? Goota leave somethin' t'the imagination."

Berwald rolled his eyes softly. "M' not a kid,_ bror_..."

* * *

The first sound that greeted them when the hatch had been opened was the clacking of several rifles being shouldered. Sweden pulled the Dane back from the entrance quickly, grabbing onto the back of his suit and tugging harshly to get him away.

"I'm their country, _fåne_," he growled, voice low. "Ya know t'lemme see 'em first if ya don' wanna get our heads shot off."

"State your names!" Called a voice from within the bunker. Sweden approached it warily.

"Berwald Oxe-"

"Hej! Viktor, that you? 'M back, brought my _bror_ with me like I said!"

Berwald snapped his head around to stare fearfully at the Dane. How did these men know each other? Did this mean they'd planned for his arrival? Had he just been walked right into a trap orchestrated by his own kin?

Denmark shoved past him, staring down into the metal-rimmed hole with a grin too big for his face. The guns were lowered slowly as the small group of armed guards began to recognize him, one by one.

"C'mon down, Matthias," said the initial voice from below, more casual now, the stern rigidity gone from his tone. Denmark complied clumsily, fumbling and twisting to get through the hatch with the gun strapped to his back. Sweden followed him down cautiously, mouth set in an untrusting grimace. If this really did turn out to be a trap, he wasn't sure his body was strong enough to handle an attack, let alone fight back.

* * *

"We weren't so sure you were bein' serious when you said you'd be coming back!" A tall man stepped forward from the small pack of guards, Viktor, Berwald assumed. He was a scruffy-looking blond man, late 20's at most, he decided by the features he could see through the suit. His deep brown eyes seemed to effortlessly command attention when they looked at you. _No doubt, he's the leader here..._

"An' you said this's your brother, right?" He held out a rubber-clad hand out to Berwald, which the Swede took quickly, giving a firm, business-like shake. "Ja, m'Berwald. Oxenstierna.

"Oxenstierna?" Viktor released his hand and glanced over to Matthias. "Thought your surname was Køhler?"

"Half-brother," he mumbled. "Two different marriages, I kept m'father's name, an' he took our mother's." The 'explanation' unnaturally quick, Matthias eager to change the subject. Viktor nodded, accepting the lie withou a moment's hesitation. He waved to the four other guards lazily. "You guys can handle this. I think I'll be going after all. You two-" he pointed at the nations-"stay up here, were goin' to the market today."

* * *

"So, market? They're st'll usin' money out 'ere?" Sweden and Denmark has settled down in the corner of the upper bunker level, still in their protective suits, the shotgun and wrapped bag laying off to the side.

"Ha! Sve, money ain't worth a thing anymore! 'Cept maybe as a bit o' scratch paper. Nowadays ya gotta barter. Food, gear, supplies, the occasional... Well, now they're lux'ries, but before all this they were pretty common."

"Common like?"

"Mmm... Headache meds, some utensils, every now and then a can of flat soda or some cheep wine, that sorta thing. The non-necessities. Stuff we don' have time t'be worrying over." Matthias waved a hand to the guards on duty near the other side of the room. "Listen to 'em, they're talking 'bout what they hope t'get from the trades today."

He was right. Excited, quiet chatter rang about the group, each of them contributing their own little wish list of goods to the conversation.

Berwald looked over at his bag anxiously. "'N we're goin' with 'em?" He smiled just a bit, thankful for his last-second decision to toss a few bottles of pain medication into the bag before they had left.

* * *

**Ungdyr-Youngster (Danish)**

**Fåne-Fool, Idiot (Swedish)**


	6. Market Day Part 1

The market was a good two hours' walk from the bunker, a walk that was not without its fair share of grumbling and when-will-we-get-there's. By the time they arrived, the sun had risen, albeit dim and wintry in appearance, still coated by the thick gray clouds that seemed eternal and permanent. The landscape, lacking many hills or visual obstacles, allowed the ten-person group to see the market from a considerable distance away.

It was a bustling, open-air bazaar, or as open-air as a bazaar could be when its patrons, merchants, and wares were all sealed tightly in their protective casings. Customers shuffles about the seemingly endless expanse of stands, tents, and carts, chattering with each other or bartering with the salespeople, whose attitudes towards their businesses ranged from enthusiasm to pleading to indifference. Various good were shouted out over the crowd, impatient vendors looking to draw attention to their products s quickly as possible.

Sweden was blown away by the sheer size of it. "Biggest market f'r 250 kilometers," Viktor had told him on the way, "an' the only one for 100." Still he hadn't expected this many people. Until then he hadn't allowed himself to hope that this many people had even survived the whole deadly affair; Hope was a dwindling resource in him, and he put it in to very few things, too afraid of losing it altogether to risk having even a shred of it crushed.

As the group entered the outskirts of the market, Viktor began giving orders (who would group with who, what each group was to search out to trade for, and other such instructions) and sending people on their way, until only he and the two countries remained. "'N 'ow 'bout us?" Berwald asked expectantly. Viktor regarded Matthias when he answered, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. "I didn't think you two were plannin' on followin' any directions."

"Well," the Dane began, "I guess we cold stay, bu' Ber an' I sorta had this plan, see, an' we were gonna start our own lil' group. I jus' figured we should top by ya bunker t' let ya know I was alrigh'."

Viktor took in the information with a puzzled expression, his dark eyes drooping a bit like those of a puppy whose owner had been gone for a bit longer than usual. After a brief silence, he managed to snap out of his own thoughts, a hand reaching up to lightly touch the fabric covering his neck. "You certainly were a mood booster while you were around," he acknowledged, the smile returning to his face. "Just come an' find me before you head out, ja?" He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, towards the rest of the marketplace. "There's a bunker near to this side, an' I'll be in there most'a the day. Please, don't forget." And with that, he jogged off after one of the groups.

Berwald glanced nervously at his brother, to which Matthias replied with an accepting shrug. "I say we go. Seems importan' enough to 'im," Denmark reasoned. "Bu' we got our own business t' get to."

* * *

The duo found their way to a quieter section of the market, a little area that had made itself into more of a hangout than an actual place for conducting business. Denmark promptly pulled his brother to a clear spot ear the center of the area. "Hej, if I could get every'ne's attention, we got an offer t' tell ya 'bout!" He cupped his hands around his mouth to extend the reach of the request. Most of the people who weren't preoccupied turned to look, some going back to ignoring him immediately, blowing it off as just another loud-mouthed salesman's pitch.

Satisfied that he'd caught enough people's attentions, Matthias slung an arm over Berwald's shoulders. Th Swede looked on anxiously, eyes flicking from face to staring face. "Me an' my bror 'ere are lookin' t' start a travel party."

"Any'ne who's int'rested 'n joinin', jus' come t' us," Berwald added, it being like his brother to forget such information.

"Ja, we'll be 'ere all mornin'!"

* * *

Their morning was not as jam-packed with hopeful travel party members as the two nations had anticipated. In the two hours they had been waiting, only three applicants had approached them, one of which they ended up turning down for health reasons; Nearing 73years of age, he had claimed, and Berwald managed to convince him to stay in the market's bunker, where they would be able to offer him at least a slightly better quality of life than he would have on the road. The other two applicants, a young married couple from Uppsala, had been accepted to join them, at which time they agreed to meet at dusk on the far end of the market, and the couple went back to their own errands and trades about the bazaar.

"Ya can't be so picky, Ber," the Dane grumbled, sighing and slouching forwards from his cross-legged sitting position on the uncomfortably firm ground.

"I wasn' bein' picky," came Sweden's defensive growl. "Ye know 's well 's I that 'e wouldn've lasted lon on th'road."

Matthias let out a defiant puff of air, pouting a bit at the towering Swede. The other man sat down slowly, exhausted and aching in the calves from a hard day's standing. Berwald knew he was weaker now than before the war, not so much a Lion of the North anymore as a weary, aging pride leader, but standing for long periods of time was an unavoidable factor of a nuclear apocalypse. He sat in his trademark silence, an imposing thing that gave the impression that he was strategizing against something or someone, for several moments, not completely sure of what to say or do next. Finally, he settled on what he felt to be an appropriate inquiry to bring up.

"Tell me more. 'Bout what ye say on yer way."

* * *

**Finally back after road trips, writer's block, and widespread power outages. You can expect more updates for the future, and I assure you that this fic hasn't been abandoned, although for a period there it was on hold while I was working on some other things that seemed at the time to be more urgent. Thank you all for your patience, as I know being left with unanswered questions and cliffhangers is one of the most unpleasant things one can be put through as a reader, so again, thanks a bunch.**


	7. Denmark's Escape

"The firs' thing I guess'd be gettin' outta the bunker. Er, I was sorta forced out, actually. Raided."

**_Two years previously, north of Næstved, Denmark_**

The image of his ransacked bunker burned in Denmark's mind as he ran. The gravelly ground beneath his feet crunched lightly, though he was unable to hear it over the sound of blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins. _Just get over the hill_, he urged himself, but as soon as he'd thought it, he knew it couldn't be done. His legs and lungs were frailer now, already worn from the trip to the market that morning, and he could feel them gaining distance, closing in on him.

It wasn't really a conscious action. Just an act of survival, really. That's what he'd tell himself afterwards. It took 8 bullets, and before he even knew what was happening, the gun that had been on his back was falling from his hands, smacking the ground with heavy _clack_. Their three unprotected bodies hit the ground as well. Another thing he would remind himself of; They were probably going to die of radiation poisoning anyway if they left their suits behind for the chase. He had shortened their misery, really.

Their eyes had been what scared Matthias more than anything. They were no longer quite... Human, as he would put it later. Hollow and sunken, filled with a certain hunger which he had so commonly seen in predators going after their prey. And in this case, he was the prey, weary and unsuspecting, an easier target than he'd like to admit. He didn't want to think about what could have happened had he been captured, nor did he really want to think about the measures he'd taken to avoid the fate, so instead he went into his lonely bunker.

That was when the panic set in. People passed by his bunker all the time. It was only a couple kilometers away from the market, and it wasn't unheard of for people to spot it and ask to stay for the night, unable or unwilling to trade for their stay in the market's bunker. But now there were bodies. There were three bodies, and they were maybe 20 meters away from the ground-level hatch. People would take notice of his location, and he already knew what they would assume. That he'd killed them in cold blood, robbed them, taken their supplies, their suits, anything he could apart from their raggedy clothing. He doubted anyone would even take a moment to listen to his account of what had happened, let alone believe it.

Denmark packed as much as he could carry before he left. He had no real plan, apart from _get out_. Leave the evidence behind and don't come back. He was too stubborn to admit his own fear to himself, the fear that he could die getting to wherever he was headed. _Nations don't_ _die_, he kept telling himself. And it was true, wasn't it? He'd never heard of it happening. Even the ones that weren't really nations anymore, they were out there somewhere, right? Rome and Germania, they must be out there. And Prussia, he was certainly still around. No, nations didn't die. Death was something that they could only quietly wish for in their darkest hours, only to be punished by their cruel fate of immortality._  
_

* * *

The hangout area had quieted down quite a bit, with only the nations and a small group chatty bystanders conversing a few meters away from them. Four more applicants had approached them mid-way through Denmark's recollection of his escape, two men and two women, a group of friends who had found their way down from Rovaniemi together. They were all in their early 20's, and Berwald had never seen such thin, bony faces on anyone so young. They were near starvation, he assessed, but still seemed sturdy enough to withstand the trip. Besides, he felt strangely obligated to help them, even if they weren't really his own people. They were all accepted to join.

"Why'd ye come t'fin' me?" Sweden's question came after he had taken a moment to allow the story to sink in, a numb bafflement to his tone. Matthias sighed deeply and readjusted himself on the ground, mulling the question over a bit before choosing the right response. "I think we got too human. All'a us. An' we start need companionship. An' your my bror, I wasn' gonna let ya go through an apocalypse all by yaself. What kinda family would tha' make me, hm?" He nudged Berwald in the ribs lightly with his elbow, chuckling at him. The Swede smirked and nodded, not completely sure what his brother was getting at, but still agreeing; They had become more human over the years. More reserved and friendly, wanting a normal life as opposed to the glory they would seek out in their younger days. It was a strange thought to have planted in his mind, but he liked it. He honestly liked the life they led as countries, no matter how hard it could get, because there were always the moments like this to look forward to.


End file.
